It was a cold clear Christmas Eve and we were living at a house we called BonnieBrae. We had not been living there too long, only a few months. We believed we had sold our wonderful farm, Heathfield. It was supposed to go through on January 1 of that year Was it 2000? Or 2001? So we bought another house and moved into it before the actual settlement of the sale of Heathfield.
A word to the wise:…
i got home this morning intending to feed the cats before heading out for coffee. my street was a massacre, a line of firetrucks book-ended by Channel-7 News crew machines. what the hell was going on? there was a fire truck parked in front of my driveway--one of the firemen helped guide me in. i asked him what was happening, but he wouldn't say anything. weird how tight-lipped officials can be when the gory details are being broadcast on the news literally as we (don't) speak. i parked my shit, dragged a bunch of jackets and water bottles out of my car, and fed my angry cats. i carefully pulled myself out of the driveway once again between a truck and a bigger truck, and went out to grab some coffee.
not that this was the first house fire on our street. we're surrounded by burnt houses now. the last one was a handful of months ago. i was at a show at the Bootleg and a bunch of us ended up back at my house with beers on my porch, shit-talking and observing the fire at the Drunk Tank. the causes were mysterious but easy to speculate about. i think we were all caustically entertained by it. mostly because nobody was killed but also because it was a shock that house hadn't already burned down. the people who lived there were named things like "Cheeseburger" and there was so much booze around you could light a match indoors anywhere and potentially start a house-eradicating fire. it was only a matter of time, really.
last night when this fire started, though, Erin was sound asleep in her bed. probably passed out with a teen dystopic fiction and a little bit stoned. i was down the street at Mike's house, destroyed after half a Molotov beer. as we stumbled around trying to locate hard drives, cables, or a torrent file containing a French language program, some mysterious accelerant caught flame and tore through the entire upstairs floor of a building i had no idea had so many units. Jonah summarized the news: they are investigating for the potentials of arson, homicide, and terrorism.
terrorism? seems excessive, but then again, so do two people dead two doors down from me. also excessive: a news camera pointed in the face of the brother of the young dude who died. he was in his 20s. we have probably all seen him around. "how are you feeling right now?"
how in the fuck do you think he's feeling, newscaster?
after a while, the fire trucks hauled off back to the fire station, and i was able to move my car back into the driveway. i saw Dan, Jonah, and Kristin. Dan had a couple of boxes for me -- a mistaken mail delivery. they looked like they were going somewhere. there was a sad and nervous and downcast vibe, as we all stood there and talked about the fire. Kristin told me that she was freaking out last night, thinking she smelled smoke and saw red flame coming from my room. i tried to inject poor humor. nooo, actually last night i was struggling through a beer at my boyfriend's house, and i still haven't learned any French. i asked them where they were going, and they responded, simply, "tacos." still half-joking, i told them to enjoy their tacos, and like, their lives. since none of us were claimed in a fire last night.
"as far as we know," said Dan.
yes, as far as we know. as far as we know we are not living in the aftermath of a parallel universe in which we have all been consumed by a deadly fire and now still reside happily between 2 burned-down houses on North Bonnie Brae. we're alive and happy and we have a lot to be grateful for. at least i think we're alive? but definitely happy. i mean who cares if you're happy and dead or happy and alive, as long as your main disposition is happy, right?
